


From the Ashes a Fire Shall be Woken

by Imaed



Series: History behind the eyes [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Backstory, Battle of Antietam, Bit of History, Civil War, Disability, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Mention of Death, Mention of famine, Paranoia, Post-Movie(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, dream - Freeform, emotional torture, mention of war, non realistic use of weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 15,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8289284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaed/pseuds/Imaed
Summary: These are the dreams that never end, the stories that cannot help but repeat themselves.The war is not over until all parties accept peace.It might take longer for someone who fought on the wrong side.





	1. The beginning

Everywhere he goes, people know him.

He doesn’t like it, but he got used to it. They got used to it.

Everywhere he goes there is this rumor, curious or reverent, indignant or disgusted. It is all about what happened on the 17th of September, 1862. It is no surprise then, that Billy assumed he had met their black leader that day.

He has never really told him about his days in the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia. To be fair, Billy has never asked before. Except now he is and Goody is not sure he wants to answer that question.

“How did you meet Sam?” Billy asks, and Goody is nothing but fully in love with him, and will always tell him the truth about his world.  
But at the eve of their impossible battle, he doesn’t want to remember those days. He would rather curl up with his partner and smoke one last cigarette.

“In the worst place you could imagine,” he answers, because he has to answer.  
‘In the Devil’s anteroom,’ he wants to say. ‘Somewhere where I thought death would be better than life,’ his mind provides.

Every man that has ever crossed his path would assume that they met during that infamous battle, a battle the Confederates lost, by the way. Goody would say ‘maybe it was the first step of my journey to him,’ but the truth is, he didn’t met Sam Chisolm at Antietam.

The lack of an answer doesn’t disrupt Billy’s calm demeanor. He is used to Goody’s long and blank silences just as much as his unstoppable babble. He doesn’t press.

He doesn’t wait expectantly. He accepts the secret for what it is.

When Goody leaves, like the coward he is, Sam is there. He is waiting for him; like he knew. And maybe the bastard did. They talk, but Goody knows Sam won’t stop him. 

Sam was already an old man when they met, a little less than 20 years older. Even then and there, he had been a good man.

Goodnight Robicheaux was never a good man; even when he tried. He is not ready to die at the honorable age of 45 for a cause that is not his, for a town he doesn’t love. So he leaves, abandoning one of the only men he has ever respected more than his father, and the only person he has ever loved.  
It doesn’t take long to feel the shame and the guilt and the despair. He reasons with himself, as much as possible. What is the use of a sharpshooter who cannot shoot?

It takes him almost half an hour to realize he has nowhere to go. It is the first time in a decade that he only has his own shadow following him. All he knows is that he is still too close. So he rides farther away, straight west.

With only his loneliness as companion all he can do is remember. He remembers the whispers, the name ‘Antietam’ muttered with fear and caution. He remembers all the dead, the corpses rotting under the sun, the smell of decay and blood.

He remembers Antietam as the first time he doubts.

He thinks about Billy’s question. “How did you meet Sam?”

He stops.

The real question is “Why did he meet Sam?”

Because he loved his father.

He feels like he is going to throw up.

He already fought a war for love, he reasons. He cannot go through another one.

He keeps going.

The Owl is behind him, silent for the first time in fourteen years. He can feel its mocking stare at his back. Goody has always run away from it, always afraid he would be consumed.

He stops again.

He hasn’t eaten in two days, since their last feast. He still tastes the bitterness of his last smoke. If he closes his eyes he can feel the last time Billy touched him.  
He doesn’t like to keep his eyes closed. He is acutely aware that he is not sane; his mind is playing tricks on him. It always happens when his eyes are closed though. It is the reason why he sleeps so little, and only when he is sufficiently exhausted or drunk or stoned.

Except he’s never had to remember Billy’s touch before. He’s never had to remember Billy’s voice or smell or anything about him. The only reason that can explain why is that, because since the moment they met, Billy had always been there.

Goody considers.

Can he even live with only one shadow?


	2. The wake up call

He wakes up in pain but so surprise to be alive he cannot stop laughing. Every one is so afraid his wounds are making him delirious they dose him with some drug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brevity is the soul of wit (don't worry the next chapter will be longer)


	3. The friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha I just realized when reading Exchange Rate from Poemsingreenink that I just join the countless stories about Goodnight and Billy NOT dying at the end of the movie... It's like we are in deny or something ;)
> 
> Finally I decided to publish the 3rd chapter just after the 2nd which is really short ^^  
> Hope you will enjoy this one too !

He sleeps most of the day but when he is awake he can see Sam lingering out of his room, waiting for a sign or something. 

He is mostly alone, except for the sweet Emma and the doc. 

He doesn’t want to ask who is alive. Once a coward, always a coward. He is tempted though, because if Billy is gone, there is no use for the good doctor to waste his supply. 

They all look so grave, he can’t muster the courage to ask. 

When Sam finally decides to visit him, things are awkward between them. He is harboring a white-ish linen on his forehead and Goody understands why it took him so long to come inside.

“You sure look better than the day we met.”

Sam almost smiles. 

“You sure don’t look worse”

They understand, both of them. Goody braces himself and taking an example of his friend – doesn’t he always- find the courage to ask.

“How many are still here?”

The warrant officer stares at him and answer, carefully.

“Red Harvest and Vasquez are sound. Billy is still asleep. Horne and Faraday didn’t make it. Most of the villagers are either dead or injured.”

He feels horribly relieved but it is of short duration when he sees Sam worried face.

“What?”

“The doc says he should be awake.”

Goody winces which make his body shouts in protest. They don’t need to specify who, there is only one name on the list he cares so much he came back in the slaughter.

“He was shot at” he tries to defend.

“You were too and then you fell out of the bell tower.”

The sharpshooter tried to breathe calmly. It is not done yet. Billy is a stubborn son of a bitch. He will wake up. 

“Doc says the wound are healing, and there is no reason he doesn’t”

Goody has to interrupt him. This is not the reason he came back. If Billy doesn’t make it, then he doesn’t either.

“Where is he?”

“Just downstairs” answers Sam.

The southerner is not stupid; he knows his body is not ready to move yet. He finds out he doesn’t care. He gets up, under the knowing stare of his friend. 

“Get me to him” he demands him, limping precariously on his legs.

Sam nods and opens the door. He doesn’t help him to walk or carry him and Goody wonders if he has lost their friendship when he left.

Sam has always been such a strong and good man, he had forgiven him all his faults. Maybe he had betrayed him once too often.

The stairs are a challenge but he follows, his breath is shallow but he doesn’t care, his legs are trembling but he doesn’t care, he is sweating and probably bleeding from somewhere but he doesn’t care. 

“He might not wake up” warns Sam, and the sharpshooter doesn’t know if it is a last residue of the man’s kindness or if he is reading too much in the stiffness between them. 

“Then I won’t either” he answers serenely. 

He made peace with his own death the moment he turned back to Rose Creek. 

“I am not sure I believe you.”

Goody eyed suspiciously his friend.

“You left him once” shrugs the warrant officer, like some kind of explanation.

The southerner suddenly understands why Sam is so cold with him and isn’t it typical? He is probably pissed off because Goody left the eve of the big fight, but not for himself, no. He is angry for Billy. Shame and guilt has always been his companion but he has to wait a second to recognize the pride in him, knowing Sam will protect Billy after so little time knowing him, even against him. 

“It is his decision to make if he wants me to stay or not” 

Sam pastes a hint of a smile and moves to open a door behind him.

“Don’t screw up” is his last word before he let Goody in.

The room is empty except for a bed and a rock chair, and if he didn’t know better, the sharpshooter would say it has been put here for him. There is even a blanket.

He sits and takes a minute to relax his agonizing body. He really should not have got up of hi bed. He watches, as he breathes deeply, Billy’s face, white as the sheet.

There is nothing in his power he can do to make things better.

So he says the first thing that passes through his mind.

“I was born in 1834, in a small town near Baton Rouge, Louisiana.”

The Korean already knows that, of course. Some days, Goody can’t stop talking about the endless days he passed as a boy, watching the sun rising and setting, about the color of the sky during the rainy days, about the smell of dust every summer. 

“My father was a merchant, he used to sell cotton, a very successful man until our dear president and his weird obsession. “

His leg is killing him but he is more comfortable now than he has been upstairs. Billy’s breath is unchanged. It is okay though. Goody can last for hours talking. 

“You asked me how I met Sam Chisolm but I will tell you why I met him and if you still want me after this, I will be the most grateful man that has ever walked on this ground.”

He takes a deep breathe, there is a commotion outside of the room, but he trusts Sam to deal with it. 

“I grew up surrounded by white men explaining to me how superior we were from the rest of the world. My father used to say ‘You recognize a man’s value to the people he surrounds himself with’. For the longest time it meant the bourgeois society of Louisiana. He cultivated my curiosity and bought me all the books I ever dreamed of. At eighteen I became his associate. At twenty one, our trade was flourishing and he decided to go into politics while I would keep the business going.” 

“It was a decent life, I had never walked a foot out of my native state and it was a good fate for me. I probably met the likes of Bogue once or twice and agreed with their logic. “

Goody swallows his saliva. 

“You have to understand that when the war started, I was already set in my ways, still young enough to change but old enough not to want to. I didn’t realize on my own that slavery was wrong. I had no opinion on slavery whatsoever to be honest, except for the fact it allows us to buy cheap and sell for a good margin.”

One of his wounds must have reopens because he is felling weak again. But he has to keep going. He is not sure he will have the heart to do so if he stops now.

“The war started in 1861. I didn’t enroll the very beginning; only when they needed volunteers a year after. But even in Baton Rouge we received news from the battle line. How decent men were killed by former slaves and how it was beneath them.” 

He is tired but he won’t stop now.

“Antietam was not my first you know, but I remember it like the first. 80,000 unions against 38,000 of the Northern Virginia. Our Captain used to say there would be easier to kill, that they would be clueless with their weapons. We were assured to win.” 

“How the hell did a Louisiana boy end up in Maryland?” asks a rough voice.

He opens his eyes, unaware he had closed them; Sam is shaking his head looking sorry for himself just besides him. On his side Emma is fluttering, face red and obviously furious. Goody has no idea why. The town is safe now. If he could just focus enough to listen what she has to say he would probably know. But his mind is a traitor. Has always been. 

He sees Vasquez smug, probably the one who asked. Everyone is staring at him, he doesn’t understand.

“You make the most depressing bedside story, Goody” says the voice again. He knows it. It’s not Vasquez.

“You took your sweet time, compañero” says the Mexican with a smile.

“He is going to fall down!”

Goody doesn’t hear a word for a long time after that.


	4. The question

All the sounds around him are buffered. Words don’t make sense. 

“You should be proud, compañero, you make our bienhechora worries for a while”

Goody chuckles. Probably doesn’t have the strength to do more. They did not move him, he recognizes the pattern of Billy’s room.

“T’s what happen when you are stubborn” slurs a voice near him. 

More awake now he can move his head a little and sees his friend, just as confined in his bed as he is. Much better than Sam has disclosed. He doesn’t understand.

“Sam said” he croaks.

“Sam is a filthy liar who should look after his own business” rumbles Billy.

“You would not wake up” finishes Goody, because it doesn’t make sense. His partner looks annoyed.

“Hey, someone should sharpen his cuchillos” laughs the Mexican. 

“I woke up almost a week ago” explains Billy.

The sharpshooter is lost, he doesn’t know if it is the drugs or the pain or the strange fog that takes over his mind but he doesn’t understand what is going on. He tries to get up and suddenly two pair of hands are preventing him to do it.

“Should get rest, compañero, don’t want to make the doc works for nothin’ right?” 

“Get your hand off me, boy” he warns the outlaw. He knows he is in no position to demand anything, weak as he is. It doesn’t mean he has to be treated like a child or an invalid. 

There is a moment of silence. The three men in the room are warry of it, uncomfortable with each other. 

“You didn’t answer me” says suddenly the Korean. 

“’bout what?” asks Goody.

“How did you end up in Maryland?” his friend repeats.

He tries to fight the fog in his brain and to remember how, indeed did he end up in such a strange place? So far away from his home.

“My dad” he says “he enrolled me the second year, I was trained and equipped and the regiment left Louisiana a month or so after. Sometimes it felt like we walked all the way to there. Most of us were not too young, a little less than thirty, just like me. We joined so many boys though, just out of childhood. Took us by surprise the first time.” 

Vasquez sneers. He was probably a boy himself when the war was in the open. 

“Had a few skirmishes, always won. I used to miss all the time” Goody snorts humorously. 

The tale makes his audience chuckles; he can feel their doubts in the air.

“Never had touched a riffle in my life before” justifies Goody. “My Captain was so desperate of me, every night before camp he told me to shoot at rabbits and ‘don’t ever try to come back before you catch at least four’ he said.”

He giggles at his own words. Four rabbits a night, he had eaten his share of weed when the target had not been met. Nothing but rabbit food.

“First time of my life I had ever felt hungry” he slurs. “Not the last though”

He closes his eyes and he dreams of fresh land, green and white, full of sun and calm. He dreams of a hand in his and he doesn’t need to turn to know whose it is.  
It has been a long time since his dreams had been this carefree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this one ! The end is so cute.  
> I must be careful with the next chapter though because it seems like Goody's PTSD have suddenly disappeared...


	5. The healing

He wakes up again during the night. 

“Don’t move” says Red Harvest, pressing himself into the shadow of the room. 

It’s like they are taking turn looking after him. It could be endearing, it is just patronizing. 

“I won’t” Goody answers, feeling more invigorated.

The Comanche nods. They stay silent for a long time. Goody feels peckish. He doesn’t remember his last meal. Actually, he doesn’t remember what day it is. 

He looks at his wounds; not that long after the battle, a fortnight maybe? No more than twenty days. Isn’t it depressing that he knows almost exactly how long just by watching a bullet wound heal? The skin is still angry red and feels feverish too. He hopes he won’t have an infection. He learned long ago than you can survive a war, seeing all your friends got hurt and slaughtered but infection is a sickness you cannot return from. 

Maybe he should eat the next time he wakes up. It cannot hurt.


	6. The War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your nice comments and kudos !!!!
> 
> Here is another chapter, probably a bit more angst than the last one. But hey, it's also a bit canon right? All the angst around.  
> Hope you will enjoy it !!!

He is bored. 

He feels better but he cannot smoke or drink or get up of his bed. Doc’s order. His only consolation is that he is not alone in is pain. Billy can stand up but he is not allowed out of his room. And there is always one of the boy to watch over them. Today it’s Red Harvest. It’s remarkable really how still the man can be. 

“How did you learn to shoot?” asks suddenly the Korean.

“Many opportunities of trial and error” answers quite automatically Goody. He comes back from his deep thoughts and glances at his partner who looks surprise. “Well as you noticed, it’s a long walk between Baton Rouge and Antietam. And I practice every day under my captain’s watch. Most of the time I would miss on purpose even, to make sure I would be alone for a moment during the day. Cause let me tell you a regiment is not the best place to feel crowded. Can’t sleep alone, can’t pee alone, can’t eat alone.”

Billy couldn’t help the laugh burgeoning. 

“One day, during one of our little fight, I got a runaway at 300 feet. Captain couldn’t believe it.”

It was not a good memory exactly because it was the first time he had killed a man without it being an accident, but he had been proud of his performance; once he realized it had been unusual. Rabbits were motherfucking fast when they wanted. 

“They got me a better riffle and we started betting, how far, how fast, how much I could kill.”

Goody winces. Even at 28 he had appreciate the praise without overthinking it. Not one of his proudest moments now that he thought about it.

“I became more arrogant, which believe me was a feat. Put me in a place with a nice firing line and I just shoot people like I used to shoot rabbits.”

“It’s learning” interrupts Red Harvest. “First animals, then human. Then no care”

Billy nods like he knows what this is about. 

“Antietam was no different” keeps going the southerner. It seems to surprise his friend. 

“More people to fight meant more people to kill. From the distance you don’t know who it is and we never got really close. Final count that day is around… a hundred kill and almost four thousand and fifty injured.”

Under the stunned gaze of his partner Goody almost chuckles. It’s probably more if he is honest. They arrived at ten-ish in the morning and the battle roared until at least five-ish. By a rhythm of 10 rounds-per-minutes during the seven hours he was there… Well at least this part of his story is true. He did kill a lot of people in Antietam. 

“Downside is, we were out of sight from the command, so we didn’t saw the retreat. We were captured almost immediately after the end of the battle.”

He forces a laugh out of him. So confident he had been in his capacity he hadn’t even imagined they would lose. What a deception.

“When did you meet Sam exactly?” asks Billy. 

“Two years later” discloses the sharpshooter. “In Point Lookout”

“I thought white skin exchange prisoner, not confine” comments Red Harvest. He seems to be interested in his tale. Which is weird in a sense, since he never took interest in anything but killing Bogue’s men and declining all their food.

“Not after winter 63” interrupts Sam, holding two broths this time. “I see you are enjoying your audience”

Goody smiles.

“It seems there is an interest in knowing how we met.”

“Ah… so are you ensuring you are pictured in the worst light possible?” teased the black man. 

“I’m just saying I was an idiot then, probably would have punched myself in the face.” 

“Not sure you have change this much” ponders Sam. “You shot like the damn devil was in you. Never knew how you got this guard in the Hospital.”

“So you were imprisoned?” interrupted Billy still with his pinched face. 

“Ah sorry. Yeah” grins Goody, standoffish. “Point Lookout. Not the place you would look for if you wanted to set up. Nothing but floodable land for miles, a wind to ice your blood; rats and mosquitoes for only wildlife. We were crammed into tents with no food, no blankets and no medicines. Not exactly what we were warned about.”

Red Harvest grins maliciously. Well, Goody supposes it’s not so uncommon after all. Billy frowns, a lot.

“We had those watchers, armed guards, who would just stride the camp and shot everyone who would be too loud, too close from the border, too southerner... For any reason really”

“The Owls” fills in Sam.

There is a sharp and cold silence following his statement. A glint of recognition rises in the knifeman’s gaze. ‘Ah yeah’ thinks Goody ‘he never knew where it came from.’

“I will pass the nuts and bolts, but I ended up in the Hospital after trying to stop one of them, and this fool was there watching me with a dressing all around his head. He had been hit by a rock.”

“I was one of the few digging the ditches” explains Sam.

Once again it appears to surprise everyone except Goody in the room that one of them didn’t master fire weapon before the war.

“Of course, I call him a fool now, but then they were much less savory words. After my little revolt, one of the supervisors told me I could join the Union, could make it to the ‘Galvanized Yankee’. Ha, he promised so many things that day I would be incapable to enumerate them all. And I did, and in charming company on top of that.”

Sam tips his hat in recognition, but he had a sad expression. 

“Next I knew, I spend month watching our regiment getting exiled in the deep west, with no honest shooter among us and the vaguest order one could muster. Keep the fort safe. Which is good because I couldn’t even shoot straight at the time. Didn’t had to fill a chamber for the next two years.”

“How you decide you would be a decent bounty hunter is beneath me” smirks Billy friendly. 

“I had my reputation and I prove myself not to be too bad once we found each other” he immediately answers. 

This is the easy banter he is used to, coming from the Korean. 

“Doesn’t mean we didn’t have to fight though” comments Sam. “When I realize that even our supposed best shooter could not shoot at all I confronted him.”

“After saving my sorry ass”

“He taught me how to use a pistol in the most convolute way ever” jokes the warrant officer. 

Everyone in the room is laughing now.

“We spend what? Eight months in this goddamn fort?” continues Goody. “And then further west. They were probably so afraid we deserted they didn’t even let us participate to the real action. Next thing we know, the war was over and we were in the middle of Utah without any idea what had happened.”

They all calm down; the noise has drawn in Vasquez who mixes easily with them. They are now all here, the five survivors out of seven. There is sorrow in this number.  
The sharpshooter doesn’t like it.

“It was not all bad” he says like an afterthought.


	7. The bad memory

Sam is here when he opens his eyes. He holds a broth. He is not hungry anymore; the view of food makes him suddenly sick. 

“Eat” the warrant officer instructs like he can read in his mind.

Hell, maybe he can, thinks Goody ironically.

Billy is right beside him, sitting in his bed. His eyes are so squinted in suspicion, he probably frightened the good doctor out of the room. Sam shrugs and holds out the bowl. It’s warm. It smells nauseous. The sharpshooter smirks internally. He knows objectively that he is famished, that it’s his brain tricking him, telling him it is unsafe. 

He eats one spoon, swallows it. It tastes like dust and mud. 

“No rat” smirks Sam like it’s a private joke.

Goody feels compel to eat it. But with each mouthful his stomach protests more and more. 

“Why would it be rat?” asks Billy, still eying the bowl and Goody alternatively. 

“It’s cheap” jokes Sam. 

Billy answers in a language no one but he can understand. If Goody didn’t know him so well he would say he looks… jealous? 

The very idea is hilarious. 

Suddenly his broth his not in his hand anymore, his partner is tasting it. 

The southerner feels extremely warm and probably a bit giddy. The Korean is wary… of Sam. It feels ridiculous. And good. 

Billy holds out the bowl and nods.

“No rat” he confirms. 

It’s hilarious. Goody eats the last bites joyously, not even thinking once about the taste.


	8. The night

The night is falling, Goody is almost asleep now. 

“I don’t get it” he hears coming from his side.

“Wha” he slurs slowly. 

He is determined not to fall asleep now but the bed is comfortable and it has been a long day.

“Why are you so afraid of them? The Owls?”

“There was just one, really” answers the southerner more and more tensed. He breathes in. He needs to focus on the apparent calm he felt for the last days. He hasn’t had a nightmare since he woke up and it’s a nice realization. Until it seems to all fall down. 

He is no longer tired. Or more accurately, he is less tired than afraid to sleep now. He hears the sound of a grumble, probably a curse and a sheet wrinkling.

“I should not have asked”

Goosy laughs sadly, disappointed in himself. 

“Not your fault I’m broken”

“Not your fault either” argues Billy.

There is a hand trying to grab his, it’s easy really to just relax his hand and to link their fingers together.


	9. The dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi sorry for the small delay and thank you to all the nice comments !!!  
> I started this serie with a clear idea of writing an arc for each character but I will probably write all of them in this one.... So guys be prepared. This is going to be longer than anticipated.

_The nightmare is not a surprise actually. One might say even it was foregone._

_What was a surprise though was the clarity with which he remembers. He usually only remembers the eyes: mean and how they enjoyed giving pain._

_He feels its look on his neck, the constant scrutiny he is under._

_He is aware it is a dream, he’s oddly detached, but the weight of its stare follows him everywhere._

_He sleeps, he dreams about a hot weather that cannot get drier; about a never ending desert and the incessant watch._

_There is irony in his situation, he is watcher and watched at the same time. And both are waiting to kill at the first sight of movement._

_He sees the eyes, pushed into a red face, waiting for him to stumble._

_He is sweating._

_Nobody can be that still for so long._

_He is starved and thirsty. But if he moves, it will be much worse._

_Better wait until it’s satisfied._

_The pain is always unexpected; he doesn’t know what he expected._

_Of course he failed._


	10. The trust

He feels warm and safe, even if his body hurts. He has probably reopened one of his wounds, again. The doc is going to be pissed. For someone so discreet, he can be a hell of a crier. 

He wakes up and Billy is holding him.

People are talking but he doesn’t want to listen. He is tired of waking up like that. At least death would have let him sleep in peace. 

A warm hand holds his neck and he lets himself fall into its comforting weight. They don’t need to talk about it. At the very beginning Goody used to protest, only as a matter of form. Now he is resigned. 

“Shut up” 

He lets an inquiring grunt, too morose to make a word, too afraid to broke the silence.

“You are thinking too much”

He cannot disagree. To be fair, it’s usually what leads them out of trouble.

“You are going to be fine”

Goody wants to snort, to retort he hasn’t been ‘fine’ for so long he doesn’t remember what it is supposed to mean but the quiet confidence in those few words makes him stop. Because Billy never says a word if it’s not carefully pondered first.

“I trust your judgement on that” he answers slowly.

And he does.

He is been trusting Billy so much he barely function without him.

They are alive.

Alive is good.


	11. The whispers

It is a weird afternoon. He doesn’t recall waking up but it is indisputable that he did at one point since he is awake now.

In and out of the room, people walk either with a purpose or without.

They always talk. Sometimes, they don’t even try to include him. He should be upset, he is just mellowed. 

He listens passively and it should worry him; he is seldom docile. But it doesn’t. 

“Maybe we should cut his dosing” says Sam. 

Billy is not here, this is a much more important topic to discuss. Where the hell is his partner? Did he left?

“It’s too soon” answers the doc.

Maybe he was feeling claustrophobic in this small room without window. He sure as hell is. It is even hard to breathe sometimes. 

“He is delirious and sleeps most of the day” insists the warrant officer.

Maybe he just left him, like he did during the fight. Maybe he is tired of taking care of Goody. It wouldn’t be the first time someone is.

“At least he is, without the laudanum it would be worst, it’s a miracle already that he is still alive” counters the doc. “People don’t fall down from building and just walk away after a week. His legs are broken and there is no certainty he will ever walk again, much less ride.” 

No, Billy would never do that. He is too brave. He is not a coward. He would at least tell him.

“His spine was spared but his lungs are mashed potatoes by this point. If we don’t keep him sedated he will panic and try to breathe deeply, which would be the most logical thing to do… except if he does it will obstruct his lungs and prevent him from breathing.”

Besides, Sam would not be here if Billy had fled, right? He would probably be trying to stop him. For his sake. Sam is a good friend like that.

“I know it’s hard to see your friend like this, but you must understand the few days of sanity he had were good days. It will take time before he is himself again.”

He cannot help himself, he laughs. It’s been a long time since he is been himself.

He wonders what it feels like and then he remembers the last words Billy told him. Maybe he is not so lost after all. He holds on.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here is another chapter today cause i forget to post it yesterday  
> Hope you will like it!

_“Always the romantic”_

_Goody hums. He cannot help but agrees. He thinks there is a beauty somewhere waiting for him. A wonderful woman who will accept him with all of his fault._

_When he voices his theory, surrounded by silence and a warm blanket, Sam laughs._

_“You are a strange bird Goodnight Robicheaux.”_

_“I am” he says. But he is at peace with this._

_“How do you expect to find her, then?” asks the black soldier._

_Goody spent long nights thinking about it, escaping from the dreams and the long hours of the day. Escaping from the hard stare on his neck._

_“I will probably travel, after all this” he embraces the desert with a large move of his arm._

_He hisses, he should not have done that. He is still stiff from the morning and the afternoon shift and the two hours he trained Sam._

_He closes his eyes and tries to imagine what she looks like. She will probably have long, dark hair; a small and secret pout that he will be the only one to know. She will be smart, with a mouth just as good at kissing than lashing out._

_“ROBICHEAUX, YOU ARE ON WATCH TONIGHT”_

_No sounds follows the statement. They all know it could be them. They won’t take the risk to defend him. The Owl is there, they are just relieved they are not its victim._

_“It’s the third time in a row” mutters Sam._

_“It is” replies Goody while standing up._

_"You shouldn't" starts his friend but he stops him with a glare._

_He tries to shake up the exhaustion. At least he ate today and probably relaxed a bit more than yesterday._

_He knows it won’t end. Not until the end of the war._


	13. The good memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the late post I was away the whole week end. Just so you know I also signed up to NaNoWriMo this year so I will not update as frequently as I used to during November. Don't worry though, I will finish this story.

His eyelids weight a ton. He is groggy but more alert than usually.

He is thirsty but doesn’t say a word. The Owl could be watching. He growls weakly.

He feels a canteen against his teeth and closes his jaw.

“Drink” demands a voice, sounds like the doc. He is not sure.

He can’t.

A hand tries to push his jawbone down, he stubbornly doesn’t open.

“It won’t work” states Sam. 

“He needs to drink”

“You can’t force feed him” 

The pressure diminishes.

“We need him to drink”

“You could just ask nicely” he croaks with as much indignation he can muster.

The canteen jumps; he is now thirsty and wet. Never a good combination. 

He tries to move up but his chest is heavy and his arms weak. He gives up after the second try.

“You want some water?” asks his friend.

“Yeah” 

The canteen is pressed against his mouth again, and this time he opens up obediently. It has a sour taste and it’s too warm, but he can’t help but finish it. 

The effort leaves him short breathed. At the very least they stopped treating him like a newborn. This is a good thing.

“Where is Billy?” he asks once he regains his composure.

“Taking a bath” answers succinctly Sam.

The doc grumbles and leaves the room. The air is clearer and he breathes more easily knowing he is among friend only. It makes him chuckle.

“Dreamed about the fort tonight” he says.

Sam frowns. Goody frowns. Why does Sam frown, it is one of the good memory he has from this goddamn place.

Ah.

“You said I was a romantic” he explains.

The warrant officer looks thoughtful for a moment and suddenly his eyes light up. 

“At least, he has dark hair !” he mocks.

Goody smirks.

“Smart like the devil too” he adds cheekily. He finishes his sentence in a cough, losing the panache.

“I don’t know”, jests Sam. “He chose to associate with you of all people”

The sharpshooter can’t help but smile. It must be a dumb smile. God, he feels dumb at this moment. Mostly, he is grateful.

“He did”


	14. The confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looooooove this chapter, it's my favorite so far.  
> Oh... quick survey; would you like smut on this story? I'm a bit torn between fluff and angst or fluff, angst and smut... I'm usually ok with a bit of steam but... well, anyway what do you think ?

“It’s none of your business”

The cold tone alerts him, fishes him out of sleep. He knows that tone of voice, the cold calculation of how Billy is going to get rid of a body. He is curious, for about a second, who angered him.

“Let’s say I am curious” answers Sam calmly, not frightened by his partner attitude. 

Goody is confused, he is alone in what became his room. But for him to hear them so clearly they must be close. Just on the other side of the door even.

“We are not here to entertain you” answers Billy.

He sounds ready to pound, ready to draw his pistol. Not in the good way.

He snorts to himself. God, he is pathetic sometimes.

“I am not trying to pry into your private life; I just want to know why you stayed when he left, that’s all.”

He can feel the tension seizing his body little by little. He never asked. God, their whole relationship relies on him not asking, about anything and letting Billy take care of things. The truth is, he is afraid, always has been. Asking Billy, it’s making him thought about their situation, it’s enlightening everything Billy is losing by staying with him. It’s taking a risk that Billy will leave him. 

“It just seems strange you followed him so far and suddenly let him go”

He breathes in. 

He breathes out.

He needs to keep calm.

He wants to know. 

He just never had the courage to ask.

There is a shuffle, like they are circling each other.

“You don’t seem upset he left” retorts the Korean.

“I understand why he needed to leave” Sam defends himself. “I don’t understand why you needed to stay. Hence my question”

“He said you saved his life” answers unemotionally the knifeman. “He had a life debt on you, the moment he accepted to repay you, it became mine too. End of story”

Goody is tempted to interrupt them. Just to tell them to shut the hell up. This is ridiculous. 

“Why though?” asks Sam.

“Because he is MINE” stresses Billy.

The door opens and lets the Korean enter.

Sam looks amused and probably annoyed, waiting on the threshold, probably pondering if he joins them or not. Billy looks furious, in a very repressed way. He is stocked with unspent energy, ready to fight at every turn.

It seems that the opportunity to see Goody is not enough to balance the risk of being beheaded. Which is a wise choice, if someone asks the southerner. Sam turns away with a tip of his hat toward Goody.

Once they are alone, his partner relaxes. He paces a bit and then sits on his former bed, close enough that his knees touch the mat.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

Goody is curious though.

“Why are you fighting Sam?” he counters.

The knifeman face contorts in a frustrated face.

“You heard us”

“I’m bedridden, not deaf” smirks the southerner.

Billy stands up and starts to pace.

“I never saw you like this with anyone before” he admits after a while.

The ‘anyone but me’ is implied. 

“Like what?” Goody doesn’t feel especially different around Sam than around the others.

“Genuine” spats his partner like a curse; he also gets up and paces again.

There is a glint of fury in his eyes, a shining possessiveness that has never existed before. 

So it is confirmed. Billy is jealous. 

It should not make Goody smiles. It should not make his heart stupidly stutters. 

“So what? You don’t want to share me?” he jokes.

“No” answers Billy with his most serious face; he looks so sincere and determined it takes the sharpshooter’s breathe away. In the best sense of the word.

“Sam has known me for a long time” he explains serenely. 

The air around the Korean tenses just as much as he does.

“He is always going to be my friend” continues Goody. 

The silent is pregnant. Billy is shaking with unsaid word.

“However”

Finally, finally, they stare at each other.

“He is a part of my past; you, on the other hand, are a part of my future.” 

The seconds stop and they just contemplate each other for what seems like hours. 

“If you will have me” finishes Goody, as honest as he can muster.

Billy moves closer.

“Don’t be an idiot” he says, sitting on the bed, patting one of his leg.

Goody smiles.


	15. The lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys ! 
> 
> What a fool am I ?? I sign in for the NaNoWriMo this year (while my November is already fully packed !) and not just for a novel, NO for a book on Environment !
> 
> I wrote 900 words for NaNo yesterday instead of 1660 and then 5000 for this fic... What have I done?

_“Keep your shoulders straight” he orders._

_Sam is painfully uncomfortable in this position.The riffle is heavy and he is been holding it forever. Goody knows all that. But he has to learn._

_“Again”_

_Sam groans but loads the weapons._

_“One” He pulls the trigger._

_A soft sound echoes in the night._

_“Two” He pulls the trigger a second time._

_“You forgot to load” reprimands Goody._

_“There is no bullet” protests Sam._

_They are in the court, in the middle of the night. If the Owl sees them, they will probably regret it. But Goody cannot sleep. He has too many nightmares. And Sam is in need of a serious training._

_“You need to get used to it. Like breathing. Again.”_

_Sam loads the riffle._

_“One” He pulls the trigger._

_“Two” Again_

_“Three” And again._

_“Four” Sam misses the beat, his arms feels heavy, the riffle aims downs._

_Goody sights._

_It’s the third time they try this exercise. The sharpshooter shows and demonstrates but he knows there is still something he is missing. It is so natural when he is the one doing it. Sam cannot keep the flow of shots. And they don’t even use bullets. So he doesn’t even has to manage the recoil._

_“Maybe we should stop now” suggests Goodnight._

_The former grave digger frowns. He doesn’t like to give up. It’s a good trait in a man, Goody admits._

_“We will try again tomorrow” he appeases._


	16. Chapter 16

When he wakes up, Red Harvest is staring at him. 

"Arent you a sight for sore eyes" grins ironically Goody. 

"At least I dont look like shit" answers the Indian. 

It startles a laugh out of the bedridden man, which prompts a cough. 

"Well, I see your English improved"

Red Harvest shows him his teeth in a parody of smile. Its frightening and hilarious at the same time. It reminds him of someone. 

"You are spending too much time with Vasquez" states the southerner. 

The warrior shrugs. 

"He is good teacher" he answers. 

They stare silently at each other but there is no fellowship between them. 

"You plan on staying?" he asks, genuinely curious. 

"No place other to go" says the Comanche. 

"Yeah, dont we all"

At least he feels better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i'm so sorry for the lack of regularity recently but it's been a bit hectic. I hope you will like this one even if it's a bit short.  
> love you all !


	17. The good news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys !!  
> Sorry for the small glitches in the updates. To amend myself here is three new chapters :)   
> Not sure if you will thank me though *run and hide*

The doc looks satisfied. It’s a good look on him. 

“We can start to reduce the dosing” he states and that’s not the good news Goosy was expecting. It must show on his face because the man adds “You will need another month bedridden but your lungs are almost out of the woods and your right leg is on the mend. I’m more worried about your left leg which is still at an odd angle, but I’m afraid there is nothing in my power to straighten it.”

“We could break it again and put it at a better angle” suggests Sam.

Everyone look at him like he grows a second head.

“Or… you can invest in a cane” he amends.

Vasquez grizzles. The man looks more and more like a human being and less and less like a wild animal these days. Doesn’t mean he stops acting like one. It won’t take long until the wanderlust strikes again.

Goody grumbles. Another month before he can get up. He feels cheated, betrayed by his own body.

“Maybe we could get you out of the room though” submits the only woman here. “If you can sit” 

For a beautiful second he could have kissed her.

“We will see” tempers the doc.

“Billy doesn’t have to stay in bed” pouts the middle aged man.

“I didn’t fall down from a 6 meters high tower” points the man concerned.

“And don’t think he is roaming the countryside” corrects Sam “he is just as limited as you are, confined to the house and the garden, but that’s it”

Billy’s frown and probable rude answer in Korean is answer enough. Well at least he is not the only one to suffer. So, there is that.


	18. Chapter 18

_Goody is counting aloud, hat covering his eyes, lost in his thoughts. Sam is still unable to go through the six shot of the riffle without losing his rhythm._

_It’s been weeks and Goody doesn’t know what to tell him so he can improve. It’s not like Sam is bad at it. Or lazy for that matter. He is just stuck. It’s maddening, because there is nothing the sharpshooter can tell him to make it better. Every night they are practicing, again and again; Goody counting and Sam is failing at the fourth or fifth shot._

_Weirdly, his aim is always a bit left side._

_A loud clicking sound echoes and Goody feels like he is been burned._

_He stays unmovable, waiting like a rabbit for the wolf to come. He feels the panic strike, slowly caging his chest._

_“Crap” says Sam “it’s jammed”_

_The Owl is here, he is waiting to come out, to lash out against them._

_They need to run, he needs to run._

_“Jesus Goodnight, breathe!” he hears._

_And it hits him with just enough strength his paranoia is lessened. But it’s not really paranoia if it’s out there to get you._

_“I KNOW IT’S YOU ROBICHEAUX”_

_He can’t breathe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I 'm having so much fun with the dreams... it's so nice to have an outlet where I can express my headcanons about Sam and Goodnight without making it difficult for the Billnight moments.   
> ...  
> I just realised... Did I tell you the italic part were Goodnight's dreams?


	19. Chapter 19

Goodnight doesn’t have a good day. Whatever the doc gave him to lessen the pain is now useless and his whole body is on fire. He cannot tell him though, because that would me more resting and more time confined to bed and Goody is sick of staying in the same room.

He is determined to at least sit today, even if he is sweating from the pain and shaking from the lack of drug. Because he is not stupid; he knows it won’t be pleasant. The headache is just the cherry on top of the pie. 

He wines a bit, almost thankful that he is alone. For once, all of his companions have something better to do than watch over him. Or maybe they are tired of him. 

He pushes on his arm and feels the stiches on his stomach protest against the move. Nevertheless he is determined.

It takes him forever but when he is finally able to see his feet he feels nauseous. He frowns, stops himself before he can swear and bites his lips. He takes big breathes and waits for it to pass. It always passes. 

There is a creak behind the door. This time he can’t prevent the curse.

The door opens and Emma comes in. She looks at him sternly but doesn’t say a thing. 

“I will stay sit” confront Goody, stubborn.

She sights and gets closer.

“You cannot be comfortable” she says.

“I’m staying sit” he repeats.

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t contradict him. She goes as far as motioning the pillow to arrange them more nicely against his back.

“Don’t be childish with the doctor” she warns him. “He is a good man and trying his very best to keep you alive. God knows it was a miracle when you woke up.”

He nods, he has no intention to be childish if the doc doesn’t prescribe him more rest. 

“How are you?” he asks, curious.

She shrugs. She doesn’t look happy nor sad; losing your husband seems to have anaesthetize her, winning the village back hasn’t bring him back. He can probably relate to that. She is braver than he is, that is for sure.

“I can’t complain” she replies finally. 

“That’s not really an answer” he mutters.

She stares at him, not exactly angry but annoyed with him.

“It’s none of your business” she growls.

Someone is knocking at the door and she turns back more restless than the sharpshooter ever saw her. 

“¿Va todo bien?” asks the Mexican, while he enters.

“Everything is fine” she says, pushing him out of the threshold. The outlaw looks at her with a smirk, not offend by her little outburst. 

“Esta mujer tiene carácter” he snorts.

“You seem to like her” remarks Goody.

“What is it not to like?” smiles the other man. “Heard you were better? Still not drowning in your own vomit I see.”

“Charming”

Vasquez roar of laugher was a surprise, as the southerner hadn’t not attempt to be funny. 

“Saw man with worse luck than you in the kind of caer you’ve been. It was not pretty at the end” comments the man while chewing obscenely on his cigar. “Gerro’s end sure wasn’t” he adds more sadly.

Goody stays mute for a minute, wondering if the two men had a thing going on before the kid’s tragic death. It must have showed on his face, because the outlaw adds.

“La muerte is just a door, anciano” reasons the wild man “when you close one, it opens another. Maybe next time we will meet and he will not kill himself so quickly.”

It’s so optimistic, Goody cannot help but smiles.

It sure is a nice way to see the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, all finished for the day. Hope you liked it !!  
> For the translation ...   
> “¿Va todo bien?” - Is everything all right?  
> “Esta mujer tiene carácter” - This woman has a temper  
> caer - fall  
> La muerte - Death  
> anciano - old man
> 
> It sounds more logical to me when Vasquez uses Spanish words in the middle of an English sentences without even thinking. I mean... as a french who tries to speak and write english I sometimes do it to and realize later it was not an english word.
> 
> Anyway, I've got plans for Emma.


	20. The whip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAREFULL this chapter is quite violent if you are averse to torture (even mild one) please skip this chapter. It's not crucial for the understanding of the story

_The night is dark, so dark in fact not even the torch can allow him to see beyond the fort._

_He stands straight.The Owl is watching._

_His back hurts, he hasn’t slept since 72 hours. His eyes lids are closing without his permission. He close them just a minute, just to make sure he will not feel like his eyeball are trying to fall out of his head._

_It will be so quick nobody will notice._

_The cracking of a whip wakes him up almost instantly._

_His back hurts, he hasn’t slept in 72 hours, and he just causes another night shift by falling asleep._

_"Tired Robicheaux?” asks the suave voice.“Maybe you shouldn’t stay up so late at night with your little friend”_

_The whip is never touching him, it doesn’t need to._

_The memory is still fresh in Goody’s memory. Point Lookout is not so far away, not so long ago._

_And he remembers every hit like his own personal nightmare. It wakes him up at night, makes him sweat every time he hears a loud sound. It catches his breathe at every mistake, anticipating the whip._

_He used to swear and fight back. He knows it’s useless now._

_He is just exhausted._

_Beaten by a small man with mean eyes. The southerner in him feels outrageous about this._

_He feels the leather tails against his cheek, pain exploding against his face._

_“Pay attention Robicheaux” says the vicious voice. “One day it might be your eyes”_

_He used to be proud and even brave sometimes._

_Now, he is cowering in fear, betrayed by his mind and his lungs most of the time. He knows the Owl enjoys seeing him weak, but he cannot stop. He sees the man satisfaction in a glance. He doesn’t dare looking him in the eyes. Last time he regretted it. Fighting is redundant. He can only wait for it to end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally know how to end this... after another 10 chapters or so.


	21. The "WTF" moment

Red Harvest is showing how to carve arrow into wood to Vasquez. In Goodnight’s room. It’s ridiculous how the two men interact. Not cautious around each other, rude and matter of fact. 

Vasquez interrupts the Comanche every other minute, tells him to be quicker. He is an animated demon, waiting like an impatient child. He is almost shaking on his seat.

They don’t exude intimacy or even companionship but there is a link between them. Something the sharpshooter cannot determine. It’s not exactly bothering, but he can’t help himself and wonder the nature of their connection. It keeps him busy. Besides, Goody has always been fascinated with the way human being can bond even in the strangest place.

It seems he has a perfect example of this in front of him.

Red Harvest is not inconvenienced by the restlessness of his companion; he just carves the wood with precise moves, shape by habit.

They don’t even speak the same language! 

Red Harvest gurgles something, probably to ask Vasquez to pay attention since he is slowly turning around toward the door, ready to bolt. Goody is incapable of isolating even a word out of it though. The outlaw must have a better understanding, at least of the tone, because he straightens and looks more focused. 

Once the operation is done and the final arrows are ready, the Comanche starts whisperings words, like a prayer. It sounds like bird chip and it’s almost chanting. 

Maybe he is blessing the arrows, who knows? 

Is Red Harvest a priest? Do Comanche have those?

The Mexican looks almost delirious. Goodnight is tempted to ask what the hell is going on but he doesn’t have it in him to interrupt what looks like a ritual. He never was really pious, but even he, knows that playing with superior strength is risky.

Just in front of his eyes, the American realizes how ignorant he is. It is not a new feeling, but it is really intense.

When all is said and done, the two valid men get up and Vasquez almost runs out of the room, vibrating out of his skin. He looks excited and eager. 

“Hunting” is the only word Red Harvest let out of his mouth in English before following his strange friend.

It doesn’t help Goody understands what’s going on. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized, I almost received 50 kudos for this story !!!  
> It's sooo amazing !  
> Let's say until the 50th kudo I will be happy to answer every prompt I receive with a drabble !


	22. The denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one of my favorites !!! Dreams can be so adaptable, you can do whaterver you want in them with little to no consequences... 
> 
>  
> 
> Don't forget fellows ! You can have any prompt you ask until the 50th kudo!!!!

_The fire is roaming. It’s warm and he is comfortable, lying on the hard ground._

_It’s not a memory. He can tell because the sky has never been so heavy with stars before. He wonders what kind of God could create all this beauty, just out of reach._

_“Aren’t you tired of letting it spoiled all your fun?”_

_He turns his head and here it is, Sam’s older body. He looks like a grandfather, all wrinkled._

_“I know it’s not easy to let go” he adds._

_“You are the one to talk” mumbles Goody. “Mister I-started-a-war-against-a-Goliath-because-I-couldn’t-let-go Chilsom.”_

_The old man wearing Sam’s face grizzles gently._

_“Touché”_

_They watch the unending universe, expanding for their eyes only._

_“Where will you go now?” asks Goody after a while._

_Sam is smiling oddly, sad and serene at the same time._

_“I have nowhere to be” he replies. “I have no future”_

_The sharpshooter wants to resist this sentence. He can’t though. He stares at the darkness in the sky, moving gently and showing the milky road. She looks glorious, laid back into the sky like an irresistible woman._

_“You have me” he hears himself say. But it’s wrong and Sam knows it too._

_“It’s nice of you, but I know you are otherwise engaged”_

_“He is my future” replies the southerner. It feels like an echo, a dejà vu._

_“Since the very day you lay your eyes on him” jokes the old man._

_“Since the very day he allowed me” corrects his friend._

_They stay silent once more._

_“You have always been a romantic” says the warrant officer like an afterthought._

_He looks more and more tired._

_The sand is turning to ground and the desert to a forest. No, not a forest, a field._

_Goodnight remembers this field, he used to run in it when he was just a boy. It was a cotton plantation just outside of Baton Rouge. He is not a kid right now, but he feels the need to run, just like the old days. The plants are so huge and some of them are already giving birth to small balls of white moss. It’s exhilarating, he feels free and carefree._

_Suddenly he runs into something, or more specifically someone. It’s Sam again, but as a kid. He can’t be more than 10._

_Lying down on the ground he doesn’t say a word. He just stays here, waiting. It seems familiar._

_“I was born a slave” says the younger version of his friend; still unmoving._

_Goody feels tetanized. He can’t say a word; he is a witness of all the suffering, of all the surrender of this kid._

_Finally, the boy is getting up, but he is empty._

_“It’s never going away” says his hollow voice “the fear of being owned”_

_He remembers those words, whispered into the nights so many years ago._

_“It’s like a never ending hunger, nibbling your stomach. Days after days, you never know if you will be alive tomorrow. If you will misstep and the Master is going to kill you.”_

_The Owl is behind him. He knows it even without turning around._

_“It’s like they are waiting for you to fail and then take pleasure in punishing you”_

_The words are too much and he wants to wake up. It’s excruciating._

_“You never know if they are going to feed you enough or let you sleep.”_

_He walks back, tries to get away from this kid with the empty eyes._

_He stumbles and two arms reach for him. He almost shouts._

_“It was so weird seeing another man submits to it” says Sam’s voice behind him. It’s the Sam he knew during the war; grimmer than he is now. “It took me a long time to realize you could not fight it, just as much as I could not”_

_Goody blinks, there he is: the Owl. Just in front of him._

_And at his side another white man, his terrified mind can replace him as the owner of the field._

_They are both wearing a whip, they both look cruel and… They look exactly the same._

_“Don’t be a slave Goodnight” whispers Sam._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note about this chapter, The Owl was a bully (if not worse) and enslaved Goody with his words and his acts against him. 
> 
> Sam's POV of this was very conflicted and I don't know if I will write another one or not, because, I suppose he thought at one moment that Slavery was only about white supremacy. And then suddenly it was not... What do you think? Should I develop more of his POV ?


	23. The recovery

Avoiding Sam while being bedridden is not exactly the easiest thing he has ever done. Thankfully Sam seems to be busy outside. Which means he is not often at the farm anyway. 

Goodnight brain is on fire. His body is on fire too, but at least he can’t do anything about it except rest. This morning he received a sponge bath from the doc and Billy which was both humiliating and relieving. He was starting to cook in his own filth. 

If Billy has taken notice of his unusual quietness, he hasn’t said a word about it; staying with him most of the days, silent and faithful companion. 

The Korean doesn’t feel restless, unlike Vasquez who is also out of the property most days with Red Harvest nowadays. He is content to just stay seated and wait for the day to pass, at ease with the world.

It’s a characteristic Goody envies him. 

“You are staring” smirks Billy.

“You are a sight to behold” replies immediately his partner.

It stresses the corner of his mouth, almost turning it in a smile. 

“You are not bad yourself, now that you don’t look at death’s door”

“Hell will have to wait a bit to chew on me” jokes Goodnight.

They wait in silence for one of them to carry the conversation. Surprisingly enough it’s Billy.

“Red Harvest is carving a cane.”

“Is he now?” asks the bedridden in jest. “He sure look clever with a knife”

“He is good enough” downplays the knifeman. 

It’s hilarious, Goody can’t help to chuckle. It still hurts his stomach but less than yesterday. Which is a small victory.

“Doc says you will be able to move to a chair outside this room soon enough” adds his partner.

“That’s a relief”

Billy hums in agreement. 

He comes closer to the bed and interlaces his fingers with Goody’s. 

It feels good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone !!!!  
> I'm sorry I couldn't post earlier but I had to moved out of my apartment and it was a bit hectic to say the least.  
>  I will try to back to my previous schedule by posting a chapter a day. Hope you will enjoy this one !!


	24. The quarrel

They have bison for dinner, it’s unexpected and exotic. Goodnight didn’t even know they were still bison into this part of the Wild West. When he enquires how it happens Emma rushes out of the room. Billy sights.

“Vasquez and Red Harvest are hunting” he explains like it’s especially bothersome. “She is been pining” he adds when he sees his partner questioning face.

“For Vasquez and Red?” he sneers unbelieving.

Billy stares at him like he is a bit slow. 

“For the hunt” he says slowly, like it’s obvious. Which to be fair, could be, if Goodnight had been paying attention to the lady. Which he hasn’t. Probably because he is been trapped in his head for a while now. 

“She should just go with them” comments Billy. 

“She is a woman” replies the southerner quite automatically.

“So what?”

The Korean looks irritated, his arms crossed and everything in his standing shouting his infuriation.

“It’s not expected of her” is the only thing Goody can muster. He doesn’t exactly agree with this philosophy, he has seen the lady in action after all, but she must have received this kind of education. 

“She wants to leave” insists Billy and his partner can’t even begin to understand why he is upset.

“And to do so, she has to fight against something more dangerous and grander than Bogue’s army.”

It is probably not what the knifeman wanted to hear because he leaves the room without another word.


	25. The backfire

It’s been three days and Billy still hasn’t come back.

It’s exhausting being worried about him. He wishes he could just get up and search for him. But he can’t. And now that he is alone, the days are endless. He is so bored he started to count the seconds just to see if they could pass quicker.

It’s not working in his favor.

The forced loneliness is slowly starting to make him more anxious. He feels his lungs expand less and less with each breathe and he hates himself a little to be so dependent.

The fourth day he begs the good doctor for a talk, anything is better than the silence. Unfortunately, the man has little to no interest to stay with him. He leaves almost as soon as possible. Now that Goody’s life is not in immediate danger he wants his visit to go quickly. He has already started to come less often.

Usually, the southerner would be delighted by the prospect. Now he just feels miserable.

Emma enters the room by midday to give him his broth and he must really look dejected because she asks him if he wants to try to walk to the chair outside. It’s just a few steps she says and should not hurt him.

Getting out of the room, even heavily supported by the woman, feels like the day he was allowed out of Point Lookout. Fresh air has never tasted better and the feelings of wind on his face almost makes him forget how miserable he was inside.

He never wants to go into this room again. Emma laughs grimly at his words and Goody feels suddenly uncomfortable in front of her. Now that he is looking, she looks just as miserable. 

He also notices that Vasquez and the Comanche are absent, again. 

“Billy is been out a lot” she says. It’s not intentionally hurtful. It hurts all the same.

“A man has to stretch his legs once in a while” he answers good-naturally. 

“I suppose”

She sounds thoughtful and probably a bit envious.

“Why don’t you go with him next time?” suggests Goody innocently.

She stares at him, surprise and suspicious. He shrugs as much as he can.

“I don’t like when he is alone” he comments. “He is not exactly in top form either.”

“He usually isn’t, alone I mean”

The sharpshooter barks a quick laugh.

“It doesn’t happen often, but even he and I disagree sometimes” he justifies lamely. Even if they are not exactly fighting.

She seems wholly surprise by his confession. 

“What on earth could the two of you disagree about?” she questions genuinely.

“Well, as you said, it’s none of your business, my dear”

It almost tears a smile out of her.

“Fair enough”


	26. The prodigal friend's return

Sam looks bewildered when he comes back. Goodnight can see him from the porch, hesitating between asking what is going on and just let the matter go.

Billy is still not talking to him, Vasquez and Red Harvest are talking with each other in two different languages unbothered that they surely don’t understand the other, Emma is silently dying of not being a part of it.

As a result half of the people inside the house are passive aggressive and the other half is blissfully ignorant about it. 

“I was gone a week” says finally the warrant officer, powerless in front of the mood swing.

The southerner is waiting outside, hoping the night won’t be too cold. His hip is pulsing painfully if the temperature is too low. 

“Welcome back” he says bitterly.

“What the hell happened here?” asks Sam, horrified.

Goody’s smile is without humor.

“Well, you know” he answers “business as usual.”

Sam lets his bag slowly come down to the floor and stays there watching the scene unfold in front of him.

Goody almost feels bad for him. Except he is not in his best mood either and has no desire to intervene. He is exhausted, he is angry against the world and he is starting to feel cold. 

He shudders must have decided the officer of the law to take action into his own hands because he enters the house, exchanges a few words with every one and comes back with a blanket.

“At least you appear to be in a better form than last time” he comments carefully.

“Well you would be surprise how quicker a flesh wound will heal with a bit of fresh air” retorts amiably his friend.

They stay watching each other carefully. Goody doesn’t want to talk about what’s happening inside, but he hasn’t had a decent talk with a human being in days!!! He feels overwhelmed by the opportunity of a friendly chat.

“How was your trip?” he starts trying not to appear too desperate.

It’s of no use since Sam knows him so well, but he is willing to humor him a bit.

“Long and fruitful” he replies. “I arrested a scoundrel just outside of town, took me three days just to find a sheriff and collect the bounty.”

“What has the poor bugger done?” smirks Goody.

“Stole a cow”

“It’s a sad day when such a fine trigger is forced to arrest cow robbers” says the southerner in jest. 

“A sad day indeed” agrees the man. “What about you? Since when are you allowed out of your bed?”

Goody’s good mood vanishes. 

“Well, it’s better than staying inside, that for sure. But you will see for yourself, food is almost ready.”

Suddenly Billy shows up and coldly announces that dinner is on the table.

Sam watches him baffled by his lack of…. Billyness.

“Your guess is as good as mine” mutters the sharpshooter. “Since you are here, give me a hand, would you?” he demands bracing himself against the chair.

They both enter the room and almost regret the easy camaraderie they had outside. Goody is sweating when he finally seat on the dining table. His partner doesn’t even glance in his direction. Surrounded by Emma and Sam, he gloomily eats his stew. The silence is insufferable. Nobody is even trying to make a good discussion.

‘It is starting’ thinks Goodnight. There is no reason to keep them together, so they are starting to fall apart. He just hasn’t expected to lose Billy at the same time.


	27. The meeting

He can feel Billy hovering in the shadow. For all his temper, some habits die hard. It’s upsetting somehow, that the Korean still wants to be sure nothing happens to him but refuses to just come to him.

Goody’s temper is also on the verge of exploding. 

His belly is hurting him today, which prevents him from any move. It seems that daily walk (if you can call the five and a half steps between his bed and the chair, a walk) has improved his global health but costs him his comfort. 

He feels better; consequently Emma and the doc diminished his dosing of laudanum. So now he feels the pain more, especially when he moves. It probably doesn’t help his temper either. 

He never liked conflict, but this is becoming ridiculous. He doesn’t even know why Billy is avoiding him! He wants to turn around and shout at him to just talk to him. 

Sam appears out of nowhere and lit a cigarette just in front of him. Goody doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse. He is not allowed to smoke because of his lungs, still too fragile. 

He wants to lash out on him.

“You never really told me how you met Billy” says the warrant officer.

The remark is unexpected and appeased him a bit, which was probably his intent.

“I mean, you told me how… the bar fights. But what exactly made you change your mind about him?”

Goody smiles absent-mindedly. He still has the bitter taste of irritation on the back of his tongue, but it‘s tamer.

“He was killing the poor bugger who didn’t serve him his drink” he tells distantly. “Literally killing him, there was blood everywhere. I paid the guy for a good doc but he will probably never eat anything but mashed potatoes for the rest of his life.”

“That sound bad” comments Sam.

“Trust me, it was worse. Billy was… enraged. When I entered that bar, he had already killed two irreverent men and at least half a dozen of… let’s say, not very open-minded mining supervisors. Didn’t take a genius to suspect he had done it to relieve the workers.”

“If you can call them workers”

“Yeah. Anyway, I knew exactly how to deal with hate and he knew how to deal with violence. It was almost meant to be.”

“You pitied him”

The southerner raised an eyebrow.

“God no” he says amused by his friend interpretation. “I saw a good man, lost in the unfairness of the world, fighting against everything and everyone. If I’m being honest here, he reminded me a bit of you.”

“Really?” Sam seems genuinely surprise. “I’m not sure he would appreciate the comparison.”

“Not at the moment, no” confirms Goody. “Also, I think the comparison stops here. He never was a big fan of revolvers. Never had to teach him anything about shooting either. Son of a gun was born with a blade in his hand, I swear.”

There is fondness in his voice, he knows it. Sam doesn’t note it though, or he chooses not to comment it. 

“You really are a romantic” says Sam and it should be teasing, it always was. Instead it’s longing.


	28. The big revelation

It’s the longest they have been apart since they know each-others. Well… apart might be the wrong word for the situation, because Billy is never really far away from him. It’s just that they are not talking. Goodnight hates it. With every cells of his invalid body. 

His days are darker for every sunset without his partner presence on his side. His nightmares are more and more actives and he is not allowed to any relaxing drugs. 

He can’t move by himself, has to rely heavily on whichever doesn’t forget him outside, most of the time Sam and Emma. He can’t shout in this house when every word seems to become a blasphemy. He wonders, not for the first time, if maybe this is it, the moment when he screwed up. 

He feels his partner stare in his neck. He shrugs.

“You know, you could at least have the decency to shoot me, it would be less painful” he mumbles in his growing beard. He needs a cut. 

He tries and fails not to think about how it’s Billy who does it most of the time, straddling his lap. 

Great, now he is sad, lonely AND horny. Perfect. Nothing could be worse.

Instantly, he hears the ghost steps of their hostess, she probably comes to help him inside. He can’t take it anymore, the moment she opens the door, he asks venomously why she doesn’t leave if she is so miserable in this house. She looks at him surprised and hurt but Goody can’t find it in himself to feel regrets. It all started because of her, whatever it is she did. 

“It’s none of your business” she answers coldly. She is obviously pondering if she will help him now, the southerner would be impressed by her composure, any other day.

“It doesn’t have to be” he hisses. “it’s affecting everyone. Make up your mind, once for all. You didn’t dither that much when it was about killing Bogue!”

She steps back, clearly shocked. Her face looks suddenly resolute and probably as angry as she really feels. 

“And how long do you think I would survive in the wild on my own? Huh, men. With no practical knowledge of surviving, hunting or even fighting beyond my riffle, I would be assaulted by the first stranger I meet. I would be raped and beaten, sold to a brothel, or just brutally killed for no other reason than being a woman.”

“You did arrive here” points Goody, undeterred by her speech.

“Surrounded by my husband, my father and fourteen other settlers.”

“You don’t lack spirit then, just companions.”

“You don’t understand anything” she sights, “How many women do you know who braved the Wild just because they couldn’t stay in one place? “

“Well maybe they are waiting for someone to give them a good example” reasons Goody mercilessly. 

She stares at him, so tensed she shakes from her anger. 

She turns around and leaves him on the porch, with no intention to get back. The sharpshooter might not know his way to women’s hearts but he knows the face of people stubborn, even when they are wrong. 

“You shouldn’t have shouted at her” 

He almost jumps out of his chair. Billy is right here, like nothing ever happened, like he never avoided him.

“Well you didn’t let me shout at you” he barks back. 

The sudden movement hurts his belly and his right leg. Billy’s stare turns thoughtful and remorseful. 

“Do you want to?” he asks.

Goodnight blinks, several times. He is suddenly terrified of being right about his stupid, stupid paranoia.

“You are leaving.”

It’s not a question, he already knows the answer. Billy doesn’t say a word but he looks embarrassed enough, he doesn’t need to. His heart is breaking, right there, right now. 

“There is something I need to take care of” he says “and you are in no condition to travel.”

The southerner is speechless. He doesn’t remember words and all that comes to his mind is plea. But for all his guilt, the knifeman looks resolute. Nothing will change his mind. 

It’s like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. 

After ten or so years together, Billy is finally leaving. 

His partner frowns. 

“You are upset” he states.

It’s almost too much for him, he laughs because if he doesn’t he will cry and probably choke. He can feel the Korean kneeling in front of him, touching him reassuringly. But Goodnight is panic-stricken and borderline hysteric. 

It takes him a long moment to come back to reality under the careful instructions of his –former- partner. 

When he does, it’s to find Billy’s frustrated face watching him with an angry fire shining in his eyes. 

“I’m not leaving you, you idiot!” is the first thing he hisses around clenched teeth. Followed by “I just need to go to the city for a few weeks and I will come back.”

The recovering man is exhausted and nods dumbly. It seems to upset his –not so former- partner who moves his hands like a snake, holding his neck and his chin, forbidding him to move his head and look away. 

“I’m not leaving you” he repeats with such intensity, Goody has no choice but to believe him. “Not today, not ever.” 

He nods a bit more firmly. 

“Breathe” orders Billy. The southerner obeys and closes his eyes, savoring the taste on his taste buds. 

“Why now?” he croaks. His voice is painfully vulnerable. Gosh, he feels so broken right now, like he was made of glass and someone stomped on him joyously. 

He opens his eyelids and found Billy looking lost in his mind, searching for his answer.

“Because if I don’t do it now, I will regret it all my life” he replies truthfully.


	29. The word

He stays awake the whole night, listening to Billy’s calm breathes. He thinks of what will happen when his partner will be away. He will probably be bored. 

Sam has looked so surprised when Billy had announced his near departure to all their ragtag of a group it was almost comical. 

Goodnight feels… conflicted about it. He is afraid still, even after his partner promised he would return. He also feels hopeful and strangely satisfied. 

“You think too much” he hears from the other bed.

Goody smiles in the dark. He knows apologizing would be the wrong move, so he doesn’t say anything.

“Can’t sleep?” slurs Billy, waking himself up a bit more.

“You never left before” says the sharpshooter. “It’s mostly my specialty.”

“You only did once” corrects the knifeman. “And you had good reasons for it.”

Goody hums self depreciatively. He supposes it’s true, but it doesn’t feel less like treason.

He hadn’t understood then why his partner, who had followed him for so long, had stayed and faced his death. Billy is a brave man, but not a foolish one. Staying in Rose Creek was foolish.

“I can almost hear you” admonishes Billy.

“Well you know why I left, don’t you?” 

He hears more than he sees Billy moves and shuffles the sheets. He misses his touch suddenly. It’s been so long since they had a proper tumble. 

“But do you know why I came back?”

“You did forget you flask” replies the knifeman in jest.

With all his meager strength, Goodnight sits and stares at the dark silhouette in front of him.

“I came back when I realized that living without you by my side would lead me to my death just as much as this damn battle.”

He hears a deep sight coming from Billy and he doesn’t know if he is bothered or touched by his words.

“I realized that breathing without you left me without air, that walking with only my shadow for companion was a travesty and that I would just perish a hollow shell of myself, incapable of feeling any joy.”

“Stop it” Billy sound pissed, not at all emotional by his declaration.

“I’m not lying” defends the sharpshooter.

The knifeman snorts.

“You don’t believe me?” asks Goody.

There is a long silence between them, one the southerner is afraid to interrupt.

“You are many things Goodnight Robicheaux” finally says Billy “but you are not a liar.”

Goody feels all the tension of these last days contained into this sentence. It is possible then that Billy missed him just as much as he missed Billy. The pettiest part of his brain reminds him it was the knifeman’s own fault if they were apart, that he still hasn’t explained why he is leaving. 

“I am merely speaking my mind” answers Goodnight.

His hand is suddenly grabbed. He feels a strange tremor against his fingers; strange because it either means Billy is shaking with emotion or with cold. Both of these hypotheses being highly improbable. 

“You are hiding again” challenges Billy. “You always are when there is something on your mind you don’t want to say.”

“Why would I do that?” jokes Goody.

“Because you are an idiot.”

Goodnight feels the light touch of fingers against his jaw and can’t help but close his eyes and sight in contempt. It’s been so long. 

“I seldom need to hide from you” he says.

“Maybe I want to see you tonight” confesses Billy in a whisper. His body is so close to Goodnight’s bed he can feel his warmth spreading through the sheets.

“I don’t want you to leave” obliges the sharpshooter. 

The tremor hasn’t left the knifeman’s hands but it seems that his whole being is shaking, Goody would pay good money for a lit candle right now. He longs to see Billy’s face and knows what he is thinking.

Billy hums distantly and Goodnight feels his temper rises. He is weaker than a kitten, incapable of following his partner for his mysterious mission, stuck in this twice curse town. 

“What do you want from me?” he asks; his breathe shortening from his quick fit of anger.

Billy’s grip gets heavier, preventing him from any form of escape.

“I want you to stop doubting me! I want you to stop hiding, too afraid to ask whatever question you are torturing yourself with! I want you to tell me, once and for all, what you feel without being afraid I will flee the second you let it out! I want you to stop   
saying you are mine if I will have you! You said I was your future; I want you to believe it! Dammit Goody, I want you to love me.”

They are both breathless. The southerner tempers is all but gone, he is humble and speechless. It seems surreal how Billy talks like his heart is broken every time Goody is understating his own affection. It seems unfair that Billy is so sure of his feelings for him and Goodnight is the one doubting and being insecure. 

He feels Billy retreating, probably disappointed by his silence but he holds him back, entwining their fingers.

“Salanghae” he whispers. 

He is probably butchering the pronunciation but he doesn’t care. He wishes he had the courage to tell him before. Billy is still and silent, he doesn’t even breathe. 

“I love you” Goodnight says louder and then he repeats “Salanghae” again and again. He only stops when Billy is kissing him. 

The knifeman is right. He is an idiot.

They fall on the bed, being more and more desperate. It feels like a century since their last kiss. It feels even longer since the last time they touched. Goody’s skin is suddenly feverish. He tries to make up for all the time they missed. He kisses Billy’s mouth, Billy’s jaw, Billy’s shoulder; the hollow between his throat and his sternum. He licks every piece of skin he found under his mouth and reveals in Billy’s moan. 

His fingers are shaking and thus failing the simple task of undressing Billy. When finally, he is able to get rid of the night shirt he is stopped. The sharpshooter wines his disagreement. 

“I’m afraid you are still not healed enough for that kind of strenuous exercise. Neither am I for that matter.” 

Billy is so calm it’s almost unfair; he kisses the southerner more languorously. It’s not nearly enough, but Billy is right, they are in no state for more than gentle caresses. Which Goodnight provides as much as he can. He tries to lose the urgency in is gesture, tries to forget it will be the last time before Billy’s long absence.

“Where did you learn that word?” asks Billy after a while of nothing but touching and kissing.

“I don’t remember” Goodnight admits. He seemed important at the time, to know how to confess his love to his partner maternal tongue. “It was a long time ago.”

Not that he used it until today, coward that he was.

“How long?” 

Goody thinks about it, tries to remember exactly how long. 

“A decade or so”

Billy lifts himself up and probably tries to stare at him, the sharpshooter can see if he is incredulous or angry. Probably a bit of both.

“I thought it would be romantic” he tries to defend himself.

Against all odds, Billy starts to laugh; he lies back and kisses him. It’s such an indescribable sensation, Billy’s lips, still laughing with mirth against his own. He can’t help it, his chest burns with happiness.

“I had to order it out of you” says Billy, hilarious.

“I’m a soldier” reasons Goody. “I do what I’m ordered.”

“Tell me again” 

“Salanghae” obeys the sharpshooter. He hesitates a second and then gives up all pretense. “Neoneum nae modeun geos-ida” (You are my everything)

“How could you memorize this and forget who taught you?” asks Billy quite affected, then he sobers “How could you memorize this and forget to tell me?”

“I was waiting for the perfect moment” 

“For a decade” adds Billy in jest.

“What can I say, I’m a bit slow.”

They stay silent another moment.

“Or maybe” tries Goody “I couldn’t choose between all the perfect moments we had.”

“Were you taught more?” asks Billy, genuinely curious.

“My pronunciation is awful” 

“It is” confirms the Korean. “But I want to hear it anyway.”

“I don’t really remember the rest”

“Goody”

Billy’s tone is warning, he doesn’t want to fight again, to be honest he wants to tell him

“It said something along the line of: I won’t ask for your hand, because our names are already down a parchment.” 

“It doesn’t make any sense” frowns Billy.

“You have the rest of your life to figure it out” slurs Goody before falling asleep, entwines in Billy’s arm.


	30. Chapter 30

When the morning comes, Billy leaves. In less than an hour he becomes just a smear of black into the horizon. It leaves a funny aftertaste in Goodnight’s mouth, bitter and hopeful.

“Never thought I would be able to see the day where you would look like you are satisfied with your life. “ 

The sharpshooter turns his head and finds Sam, with all his gear.

“So you are leaving too” Goody states. 

“I stayed long enough” 

He seems melancholic but less desperate that he was the day they part, after the war. But again, it would be difficult for them to be more lost now, than they were then. Time healed them better than they thought it would. 

There is something bothering Goodnight though.

“You never let me apologize” he says; it could sound reproachful, but they both know it is an observation and nothing else. “We didn’t exactly part in the best terms last time.”

Sam nods distantly. If he is surprise by the topic, he doesn’t show it. 

“It’s not always easy, accepting the truth for what it is” he says, his wisdom comes from personal experiences. “You were not expecting me to call you a slave and the Owl your master.”

Goody snorts unaesthetically. It’s an understatement if he ever saw one.

“Not expecting” he repeats, appreciating how the words roll on his tongue, the irony on them. “I almost shoot you.”

The warrant officer chuckles like he was just told a good old joke, the kind that never stop being funny.

“Almost fifteen years later, you send a rookie to recruit me for a suicide mission” pouts Goodnight, only expanding Sam’s grizzle. “Next thing I know, I’m in the middle of a ragtag group, waiting for my last hour to come.”

Now Sam is laughing in earnest. 

“To be honest” he says between two long breathes, “I didn’t expect you to accept, even less to come with a…”

“Watch your words, old man” warns the sharpshooter, in jest.

“Oh, come on. You, with an Asian tailing after you like another shadow. Admit it. It’s funny as hell.”

“Shut up, I have perfectly good taste in friends. You and Billy on the other hand…”

“You would be surprise” finishes Sam, staring back at him. 

It’s a piercing gaze, not comfortable in the least. 

“You have always been more afraid to live than to die my friend, I don’t know if there is a way to make peace with what happened with the Owl during those eight months, but for your sake as much as Billy’s don’t let it spoils your fun.”

Goody’s body is still aching and prevents him from wiggling under the scrutiny. 

“There is probably a first for everything” he replies, trying for some levity.

Sam shrugs and walks down the stairs. 

“How does it go away then?” asks the southerner. “The fear of being owned?”

Under the familiarity of his own words, told more than a decade ago, Sam stops. He takes his time to think about it, genuinely. He smiles suddenly, a private smile, full of mischief. 

“You have to believe in your own worth”

Goodnight stares at his old friend, waiting for the punchline. Sam has nothing more to say though. He looks so smug, if Goody had the strength he would punch him. 

“Believe in your own worth” he repeats, dumbstruck. 

“Yep” confirms the warrant officer. 

Goodnight laughs harder than his ribs can support, it is so painful he starts to cry too. The two cowboys share a glance and laugh some more.

When they finally calm down Sam adds:

“You would have figured it out, eventually.”

“I certainly hope so” deadpans the southerner.

They stay silent for a minute.

“Do you even know where you are going?” 

Sam shrugs. 

“Straight ahead until I can’t anymore” he jests. “What about you?”

Goodnight considers his answer. He doesn’t have a plan, never really had. 

“I will have to wait here for a bit, lungs are still a bit weak. I will wait for Billy too. Apparently I was the only one stupid enough to think he wouldn’t come back…”

Sam snorts but doesn’t add anything on his own thought.

“I’m rather tired of the desert. We will probably go north. It’s been ages since I have slept in a proper town. We won’t need to take a work for a while. Might even get bored for once.”

“You could enjoy life without looking over your shoulder for once.”

Goody laughs.

“Eeh, it’s not for right now. But eventually yeah.”

Sam readjusts his pack and a comfortable silence settle between them.

“It’s a goodbye then” says the Southerner amiably.

The warrant officer suddenly turns to face his long known friend. He extends his hand solemnly.

Goody smiles and shakes it.

“Don’t be a stranger” says Sam. 

The sharpshooter nods and for once stays silent. 

He watches his friend climbs his horse and leaves in the clear day.

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of From the Ash.  
> I hope you guys liked it !!!   
> I am currently writing the next piece from Billy's POV which will be called "Everything that glitter is not gold"
> 
> Can't wait to see where it will take us !


End file.
